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The sun turns a blind eye to this sort of thing, although she shouldn’t, after what happened to Ceres.

At least Saturn got Jupiter to give him a ring, although after all this time they still haven’t set a date. Whatever Pluto and Charon are doing together, it got them disowned, and now Venus is spurning the advances of her opposite number. He’s calling her bluff–looking elsewhere.

Mars makes it clear, by the waggle in his orbital axis, just what he would like to do if they ever happened to fall into each other’s gravity wells.

Earth blushes. Millions die.


But Sun hated the light.

“She said ‘Earth hurts my eyes!'” Mishaal hunches his shoulders, and his firelight shadow becomes round and menacing. “‘I will eat its light.'”

She rose up and began to swallow it, but Earth only made more.

“Sun shrank in pain,” hisses Mishaal. “The bright light crushed her to a tiny ball!”

At last, Sun cut a hole in herself to let the light out; she could keep eating forever, then, even as she swelled and fell.

“Earth saves its light by night,” says Mishaal, “and Sun heals, and the stars are her blood on the sky.”

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